xperience is lost upon the animal that in his sane state was so
quick to learn.

Youatt mentions as a symptom, that the dog in all he does is instigated by
the spirit of mischief or of malice,--that he desires to do injury, and is
prompted by malice in all his acts. This, to an outward observer, will
appear a correct judgment; but it is essentially wrong. It is the
conclusion reached by one who judges mainly of exteriors; it can be true
only to those who are willing to look no deeper than the surface. There
can be no malice in a raging fever, which vents itself on every object
within its reach, animate or inanimate. Mischief is too playful a term to
apply to a consuming wrath that ultimately destroys the life. All pain is
lost; as a consequence all fear is gone. The poor beast is urged by some
power too mighty for its control, which lashes it on beyond all earthly
restraint to pull to pieces, to gnaw, and to attempt to eat every object
it can get at; but how far it is urged by malice or mischief, the
following anecdote will serve to show:--

A butcher had a large bull mastiff of which he was very fond; but,
observing something very strange in his pet's behavior, he came to consult
the author about the dog. The man was told to bring the animal for
inspection early the same evening. This order was given from no suspicion
of the truth, for the owner's description was too confused to be rightly
interpreted. The animal was accordingly brought punctual to time, led
through the streets by a silk handkerchief carelessly tied round the neck
of the beast. The author being at the exact moment of the dog's arrival,
fortunately, engaged, the butcher had to wait some few minutes, during
which time the writer's eyes were kept upon the huge creature. It was
remarked to look round in a strange manner. The eye was retracted and the
nose dry. It was at length seen to put its mouth against its master's
boot, continue in that position uttering a strange noise, and to move its
jaws as if biting at some substance. The butcher all this time stood
perfectly still, allowing his favorite to follow the bent of its
inclination without rebuke or opposition. When the mastiff's head was
removed, the boot it had apparently been biting was perfectly dry. The
author observed nothing more than this; but, afraid to confess his dread,
lest the cry of mad dog should be raised, and do more, much more, harm
than good, he called to the butcher, telling him he w